


Valais, 1601

by Lord_Silvertongue



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Aziraphale is a pigeon, Gen, Historical, M/M, Miracles, No beta we fall like Crowley, Prison, Sarcasm, The Arrangement, Valais, Werewolf Trials, un-beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 04:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20576678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Silvertongue/pseuds/Lord_Silvertongue
Summary: "Well, this is a nice change of scenery.""It's a prison cell.""I was being sarcastic."1601, Valais, Switzerland. Werewolf/Witch Trials. Apparently a stranger arriving the day after the full moon is frowned upon. Bad timing, really.





	Valais, 1601

Aziraphale frowned into the dark of the stone room he had been shoved into, sensing _something_ in the air. He was really just waiting until nightfall to escape his confinements, but until then there was quite a lot of gawking and questions to deal with. Lord, but the strange questions he'd been asked in the last three hours alone were enough to leave him quite wondering what sort of odd devilry he had stumbled himself into.

“Hello?” he asked into the dark, hearing that something again, this time a bit more clearly. “Who's there?” Aziraphale was not above relying on the kindness of strangers, especially when it came to getting out of scrapes that he was certain weren't his own doing.

A slight hiss to his right, as if something were being dragged across the rough ground. The noise coalesced into what resembled a sigh.

“Principality. I didn't expect to see you so far from Britannia. I thought you didn't speak French?” The redheaded entity sauntered into the dim light, looking every bit like he belonged here.

“Crowley! I – I don't. I speak German well enough, however.” Aziraphale readjusted his coat, as if smoothing out the wrinkles was going to fix the dirt and blood smeared into the fabric.

The demon tilted his head down to look over his dark tinted lenses, meeting his counterpart's eyes before glancing briefly about the room, “Obviously not well enough.” He sauntered further into the middle of the room, “Nice change of scenery. Compared to court, I mean.”

“It's a prison cell. I mean really, Crowley-” Aziraphale tried to see the room as a demon might, but even then it set him ill at ease.

  
Crowley somehow managed to convey his eye roll into a full body motion, “I was being sarcastic.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.” Sarcasm was still not quite something he had a good grasp of. It wasn't any sort of surprise that Crowley had mastered the art, however.

“I suppose this is your doing then? This whole... Lycanthropy business?” Aziraphale shuddered at the thought. If he had to answer one more bloody question about where he had hidden his pelt- His train of thought was cut off by the demon's laugh.

“Oh is that what they have you in for? Turning into a wolf? You always struck me as more of a pigeon, really- “

Aziraphale did nothing to hide his outrage, “A Pigeon! You foul thing. I am a Warrior of the Lord, I'll have you know!”

Crowley held out a placating hand, obviously trying to smother the smirk that still graced his lips. “Easy, Angel. I'm kidding. Once again this is all the humans. Bloody cruel things they're turning out to be, eh? Mother _must_ be proud.”

He did another turn about the room as Aziraphale bit his tongue. It was really no use ever arguing with the demon after all, especially when it came to the Almighty. They had gone around and around in circles about it once, fueled by wine and oysters not too very long after the Christ-child's death and subsequent resurrection.

“Regardless. I'm only waiting until nightfall and then I'll be on my way. I was only passing through on my way to a quick Miracle.” The angel stifled his urge to reveal more information. The fiend really was easier to talk to than he had any right to be.

“Oh, of course.” Crowley pinned him with his eyes, spectacles momentarily removed for a thorough cleaning. “And this Miracle. Wouldn't happen to be south west, would it? Perhaps towards that monastery in the mountains?”

Aziraphale felt the tingling sensation at the base of his wings that he had come to associate with the demon's scheming. “It... May be.”

“Well,” Crowley started, grin glinting in the dark, “I may have a small favor to ask, in the face of our Arrangement.”

Aziraphale sighed, already knowing he wouldn't deny the demon's request.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm researching the lycanthropy trials in Switzerland for something completely different, but here we are. Unbeta'd, so please forgive any glaring errors.


End file.
